


do me (no good)

by aspartaeme



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Post-Season/Series 02, it's not like. heavy on the angst but it's there, super mild but just in case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23778508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspartaeme/pseuds/aspartaeme
Summary: And Harrington keeps looking at him now, because they’re best friends, and he keeps asking him stuff, stuff likewanna shoot some hoops after we ditch the kids, andyou comin’ by mine later, andhow do i look, and they’re friends, now, him and Harrington, so Billy has to saysure, andyes, andfine, Harrington, keep walking, even though he doesn’t mean any of that, even though he meansplease, andalways, andlike everything i’ve ever wanted, and.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 46
Kudos: 363





	do me (no good)

‘How do I look?’ 

Billy—he doesn’t _jump_ , okay, because. Well. Billy _doesn’t_ jump, but. 

It’s a close thing. 

He hasn’t even like. Locked his car. Harrington’s on him and Billy hasn’t even had the time to lock his _fucking_ car. 

He sighs. Deeply. _Tired_. 

Harrington just—he brings out this side of him. The side that’s not. _Totally_ annoyed by getting— _jumped_ on his way to the Party of the Week, _right after getting out of his car_. 

Because Harrington thinks he can— _do_ that, now. Come up to Billy. Ask him _stuff_. Stuff like _wanna shoot some hoops after we ditch the kids_ , and _you comin’ by mine later_ , and _how do i look_. 

Stuff _friends_ ask. 

Because. That’s what they are, now, apparently. Billy and Harrington. _Steve_. They’re _friends_. 

They’re fuckin’— _best_ friends. 

Because that’s what it takes to score a best friend in Nowhere, Indiana, apparently. 

Break a plate over a guy’s head, let him score a few punches against you, throw your fists his way, and. Bingo, you got yourself a friend. 

Well. 

Except that’s not _really_ how it went, if Billy’s honest with himself, which. He’s trying to be. Not like he’s honest with. Anyone else, so. 

Harrington didn’t give Billy a friendship bracelet because Billy punched his stupid face in, not really. 

Billy punched Harrington’s stupid, stupid, _stupid_ face, because Harrington wouldn’t _look_ at him, and Billy felt like throwing up, felt like tearing his hair off, felt like clawing out of skin, wanted Harrington to _look at him_ , so Billy _punched_ him, and then Harrington _did_ , started looking at Billy, started looking at him with something bitter, something sour behind his eyes, something that looked a lot like— _disappointment_ , like Billy had let Harrington down, somehow, and _that_ made Billy want to throw up all over again, and Billy had a lot of that already, letting people down, being looked at like _that_ , so. 

So Billy bought a six pack, and chased Harrington all around Nowhere, Indiana, and _caught_ him, and he didn’t _explain_ , not really, because—how would that even go, right, how would Billy make Harrington understand, _i wanted you to look at me and you never did so i punched you_ , but Harrington—he didn’t need an explanation, turns out, he just needed a few cans of beer, and a pack of Marlboros, and he needed Billy, drunk and giddy and fuckin’ _ecstatic_ , because he finally, _finally_ had Harrington’s eyes on him the way he neededneeded _needed_ for so long, and he needed Def Leppard, loud, loud, _loud_ , thumpthumpthumping out of the Camaro, and he needed to _scream_ , at the top of his lungs, 

_i gotta feel it in my blood_

and he needed Billy joining in, screaming, _screaming_ next to him, 

_gonna hunt you like an animal_

and that’s all Harrington needed, really, even though his stupidstupid _stupid_ face was still purple and blue and yellow, even though every time Billy made him laugh his lip kept opening up all over again, even though his knuckles were still sore from meeting Billy’s nose, but that’s all Harrington needed, a smoke, and a few beers, and Billy screaming next to him, so. 

So they’re _friends_ , now, best fuckin’ friends, because the next day Harrington sat next to Billy at lunch and no one batted an eyelash, and that was that. 

And—Harrington doesn’t look at him the way he used to, before, not anymore, and his eyes aren’t filled with _sour_ and _bitter_ and _expected better_ , but. 

But Harrington keeps _looking_ at him, like Billy wantedwanted _wanted_ him to, and he’s smiling now, and his eyes light up, now, and Billy—Billy _wanted_ this, he did, but his stomach still wants to empty its contents every time Harrington’s eyes find his, and it’s a different kind of feeling, but it still means the same thing, it means _i want your eyes on me all the time_ , and it means _stop looking at me like that_ , and it means _i want more_ , and. 

And Billy can’t—he can’t _have_ more, and Harrington keeps looking at him now, because they’re best friends, and he keeps asking him stuff, stuff like _wanna shoot some hoops after we ditch the kids_ , and _you comin’ by mine later_ , and _how do i look_ , and they’re friends, now, him and Harrington, so Billy has to say _sure_ , and _yes_ , and _fine, Harrington, keep walking_ , even though he doesn’t mean any of that, even though he means _please_ , and _always_ , and _like everything i’ve ever wanted_ , and. 

And they’re friends, now, and Billy _still_ hasn’t locked his car, and Harrington’s standing in front of him, and he’s—the prettiest thing Billy’s ever seen, ever, and he’s wearing a _shirt_ , and he’s got his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, because Harrington is _that_ guy, that guy who shows up at a party with rolled up sleeves and still looks like a million fuckin’ bucks, and Billy— 

Billy wants— 

He gives Harrington an up-and-down, because. Well. He’s allowed. Harrington asked him. Billy’s _allowed_. 

Licks his lips before he can stop himself, but like. Harrington’s used to that by now. 

‘Who’re we trying to impress, King Steve?’ 

And he thinks he did it, dodged the fuckin’ question, because people don’t say _like everything i’ve ever wanted_ to their best friends, because boys don’t say that to other boys, because Billy _can’t_ say that to Harrington, but Harrington— 

‘Yeah?’ he says, smiling, bright, blinding, beautiful, pushes, wants an answer, keeps looking, looking at Billy, so. 

‘Yes, fine, Harrington, you look _fine_ ,’ Billy says, forces it out of his mouth, spits out every word. Rolls his eyes at Harrington’s smile that gets. _Wider_ , somehow. Impossibly so. _Unfairly_ so. 

‘Good,’ he says. Entirely too pleased with himself. Doesn’t stop smiling. Doesn’t stop ruining Billy’s life. ‘Good. ‘Cause I got plans,’ and he—he fuckin’. _Winks_ at Billy. 

He _winks_. 

Billy wants. To punch him. Punch his mouth. Repeatedly. Make sure _i got plans_ never comes out of Harrington’s stupid mouth, ever again, because— 

Because Billy _knows_ , okay, he knows what _i got plans_ means. He knows it means _King Steve_ , and _bedroom_ , and _not you_. 

He knows. He _knows_ , he— 

He smiles. Not as big as Harrington, ‘cause that’s. Impossible, really, but. They’re best friends, now, and that’s what best friends _do_ , Billy thinks. _Support_ each other. Smile when your best friend _has plans_. 

‘Oh, yeah? Who’s the lucky gal you got your eye on, King Steve?’ he forces out. Doesn’t choke on the words. Doesn’t choke on— 

Harrington gives him a look, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it, a confused thing, like maybe Billy took a wrong turn, like maybe he asked the wrong question, but. 

It doesn’t last, and Harrington goes back to smiling, to looking at Billy in the same way he’s been looking at him for a while now, in that way that makes Billy wanna do—something stupid, and. 

‘Don’t worry ‘bout it,’ he says, keeps smiling, keeps smiling, and then, _then_ , ‘you look nice, too,’ he says, casual, easy, like he’s not shattering any chance Billy had tonight, any chance of finding some chick with short brown hair to plunge his fingers into while she’s on her knees in front of him, while he’s keeping his eyes shut, while he’s thinking about— 

About— 

‘Great, so we _both_ look nice, that’s great,’ he says, clears his throat, tries to swallow down the itch, the itch to say what he means, _say that again, tell me i look nice again, never stop saying it_ , because Harrington’s his best friend, and Harrington’s got _plans_ , and plans means _not Billy_ , so. ‘We goin’ in anytime soon or we just gonna stand out here and look nice?’ 

And Harrington laughs, _laughs_ , walks past Billy, goes to ruffle his hair, the way Harrington does now, sometimes, because that’s what friends do, thinks better of it, because Billy spent _a lot_ of time fixing it, tonight, making sure his curls are all in place, and Harrington of all people knows not to mess with perfectly placed curls, and Billy _does_ look nice tonight, made sure of it, because Harrington asked him, a week ago, _hey, we goin’ to Roxie’s party next week, right_ , and Billy has no fuckin’ idea who _Roxie_ is, doesn’t give a fuck, truth be told, but Harrington asked him, so Billy made sure he looks nice, made sure his curls are all in place, so Harrington doesn’t, doesn’t touch his hair, squeezes his arm instead, winks at him, _again_ , walks up to the house. 

Leaves Billy standing alone in the front yard. Re-evaluating every choice he’s ever made. 

He needs a drink. 

He needs— 

He needs _a lot_ of drinks. 

And like. Billy’s life is a joke, okay, and by the time Billy’s in the house, before he even has the chance to grab a fuckin’ drink, to get enough alcohol in his system, Harrington’s already found his crowd, is already laughing at some stupid chick’s story, because— 

Because, the thing is— 

Billy may have stolen Harrington’s title once, may have beaten him at every keg stand since he arrived in Nowhere, Indiana, but. 

There’s no doubt who the real King is. 

Harrington fuckin’—lights up every room he enters. People just—they flock around him, drawn by his. His fucking _everything_ , if Billy had to guess, and that’s. 

That’s something Billy gets. Being drawn to Harrington, moth-to-flame, one look and you’re done, hook-line-and-sinker. 

Billy—he gets that. 

He gets that, and he’s stuck to his spot, stuck staring at Harrington, the way he throws his head back to laugh, the way his eyes light up, like they do when Billy makes him laugh, and. 

Harrington’s eyes find his above the crowd, and then Harrington—he throws a smile his way, rolls his eyes, like _what can you do, huh_ , and Billy— 

He grabs a beer. He needs. Something. Something else, something— 

Might as well drown that need in alcohol. 

He resolves to spend the rest of the night as far away from Harrington as possible, which is. Easier than it sounds, because Harrington’s a fuckin’ ray of light, the center of everyone’s attention wherever he goes, so. Billy has to avoid the crowd, except. 

Except Harrington keeps finding him. 

He’s never alone, always has a few girls, a few guys, tailing after him, but. 

He keeps looking for Billy. Keeps finding him. 

Keeps stealing glances at Billy, making sure he’s still where he left him, and he doesn’t—he doesn’t stop talking to. Whichever bitch is trying to keep his attention every time, actually seems invested in every conversation, except he _keeps looking at Billy_ , and Billy’s life is a fucking joke, and Harrington’s his best friend, and he’s got fuckin’ _plans_ , and— 

Billy gulps down his. Third. Fourth. Whatever bottle. Grabs another. Parks himself on the couch, in the middle of the living room. Gives up on any chance he had of. Getting away from Harrington. From his stupid, stupid eyes. Just for tonight. Maybe try to stop. Thinking about him all the time. Just for one night. 

He gives up. 

He’s tired. The chase is over. Harrington’s won. He caught Billy. 

Harrington takes. Maybe three minutes before he’s sprawled next to Billy. 

Not alone. _Never_ fuckin’ alone. No, he—he brings company. 

Ignores Billy. Completely. Keeps his eyes locked on the bitch on his lap. Plays with her perfect fuckin’ curls. 

Her perfect curls. Billy’s spent the whole night fixing his hair, because Harrington—Harrington _asked_ him, said _we goin’ to Roxie’s party next week_ , and Billy doesn’t give a fuck about Roxie, doesn’t give a fuck about her party, doesn’t give a fuck about anyone in this fucking hellhole except— 

And Harrington’s playing with— 

And he keeps sending sideways glances Billy’s way, like he needs to—make sure he’s still got the attention of his crowd, make sure Billy’s looking, keeps playing with her curls, keep leaning in, and then— 

Billy’s standing up so fast he sees black, and stars, and fuckin’ bolts of lightning, and he’s making his way through the crowd as fast as humanly possible, because he needs to get out of there, _right the fuck now_ , because Harrington said _i got plans_ , and that means _makin’ out with the first chick that throws a smile my way while my friend’s sitting next to me_ , apparently, and Billy’s never had a best friend before, but he thinks _eye fucking your best friend while he’s making out with the girl on his lap_ far exceeds the roster of best friends’ obligations, and— 

He needs to get out— 

And Harrington’s on him seconds before Billy can make for the door, and he’s crowding him against it, kinda blocking Billy’s only way out, and Billy has no idea what kind of game Harrington’s playing, but he’s fuckin’ done, done playing, never signed up for it in the first place, never agreed on being Harrington’s best friend, never agreed on letting Harrington and his stupid eyes ruin his life, except— 

Except Harrington looks. He looks _lost_. Like maybe his—his plan didn’t work, which. 

There was a girl on his lap a moment ago. She had her tongue down Harrington’s throat, a moment ago. 

And Harrington looks _lost_ , like his plan didn’t work, and Billy— 

He needs to— 

He needs to get out of here. _Now_. 

Except Harrington’s still holding his arm. Except Harrington leans in, and he looks at Billy, and his eyes are filled with worry, and. 

‘Where’re you goin’, man?’ 

_Man_. Billy wants to punch his face in all over again. 

‘Home, Harrington,’ he says instead. Grits his teeth. Squares his jaw. Holds Harrington’s gaze. Defiant. ‘’s late, _man_. Better get goin’. Don’t wanna go past curfew, right?’ 

Because Harrington. Knows about. Stuff. The curfew. Neil. 

Well. Not. Not _everything_ , but. 

He knows. Because he’s Billy’s. Best friend. 

Which means he. He also knows Billy’s not supposed to be home for another hour. He knows Billy’d never pass up the chance to stay up as late as possible. Knows Billy’d never miss the chance to push his boundaries, needle Neil as much as he can get away with. 

Harrington knows all that, so. 

‘Billy. C’mon, just—just stay, man, it’s still early, you don’t have to go yet,’ he says, and he’s—almost begging, almost, like maybe he needs Billy there to have a good time, which. He very obviously _doesn’t_ , and Billy’s not staying here a second longer, not spending another moment with Harrington and his girl-of-the-night, and— 

And Billy—he’s never been good at fighting his impulses, okay, and since coming to Hawkins _impulses_ almost always means _Steve_ , so. 

He raises his hand, cups the back of Harrington’s neck, squeezes. Brings their faces closer, closer, and they’re still inside the house, and anyone can see them, but everyone knows they’re best friends now, Harrington-and-Hargrove, Hargrove-and-Harrington, everyone thinks there are two kings ruling Hawkins, even if Billy knows the truth, knows who the real King is, and he also knows no one will say a thing about—about this, about Billy’s hand on Harrington’s neck, about Harrington’s eyes on his, knows people value their lives too much to dare say anything about it, knows he can get away with it, and Harrington was kissing a girl two minutes ago, but he’s begging _Billy_ to stay, now, and Billy needs— 

He needs— 

He needs to get out. He needs to _get out_. 

‘’m tired, pal,’ he says around the acid in his throat. Keeps his voice neutral. Flat. _Never show weakness_. ‘Not really in the mood, either. ’sides, your girl’s waiting for you,’ he says, nods his head toward the couch, because she _is_ , keeps throwing daggers his way for keeping Harrington’s mouth away from hers. Billy gets that. 

Harrington goes to say—something, and Billy knows, he knows, if he lets Harrington ask him again, he’ll—he’ll end up staying, because being close to Harrington beats being not-as-close-as-humanly-allowed, always, _always_ , so. 

‘Don’t worry ’bout me, King Steve,’ he says, cuts off whatever Harrington was set on saying, ‘’m good to drive home. You should go back, though. Don’t wanna keep your girl waiting, right?’ 

And he squeezes again, one last time, lets his hand fall, sees the moment Harrington admits defeat, the moment he decides to let Billy open the door, let him go out. 

He looks fuckin’— _devastated_ , and Billy wants to go back, wants to find some excuse, _any_ excuse, to touch him again, keep touching him, keep him away from that bitch and her stupid curls, wants to shout _look, asshole, mine are better, spent all evening making sure of it for you_ , but. 

But Harrington’s his best friend, his fuckin’ _straight_ best friend, and Billy’s life’s a joke, and— 

* * *

No one’s awake when Billy comes home, which is. A fucking blessing, really. 

Billy’s still kinda reeling Neil’s allowing him to go to parties, allowing him to stay up late, but. He’s like a dog, he supposes. Neil’s feral little beast. Trained. Obedient. 

_down, boy_ — 

Neil allows him these small pleasures, these—treats, to make sure Billy stays good. Stays disciplined. _Respectful_. 

_who’s a good boy_ — 

Billy growls, and snarls, and barks, and never, ever bites, because— 

Because Billy has terrible impulse control, and that means _Steve_ , these days, but it didn’t always mean _Steve_ , it used to mean _Matt_ , and _Ty_ , and _Dan_ , and it used to mean _Bryan_ , and _Bryan_ is when Billy learned how important impulse control is, because _Bryan_ also meant a broken wrist, and it meant _pack your bags_ , and it meant _Hawkins_ , so. 

So now Billy goes to parties, and comes home early, and he doesn’t touch Harrington, not the way he wantwantwants to, not the way he needs, and he smiles when Harrington tells him he’s got plans, and says _fine_ when Harrington asks him how he looks, and he— 

He— 

He hates himself. Every waking moment. 

Used to hate Neil, for all of it. 

Used to hate Neil every time his heart tried to fly out of his chest when a boy threw a smile his way. Hated Neil when he kissed a girl for the first time and felt—nothing. When he spent the first two weeks in Nowhere, Indiana locked inside his room, because the cast would raise questions, and Neil wasn’t in the mood to uproot his picture-perfect family again because Billy had been _bad_. 

Used to hate Neil, and then—then Billy learned his lesson. 

_responsibility_ — 

Billy learned—it’s all his fault. He learned—Neil is trying to _protect_ Billy. He learned—he learned Neil is beating sense into him before the world can beat the life out of him because— 

Because the world is _cruel_ , and Neil is trying to _protect_ him, and Billy’s arm still burns where Harrington was holding him, and Billy’s life is a joke and he— 

He hates Neil, he _hates_ Neil, he— 

He hates himself, and Harrington keeps _looking_ at him, and Billy wants to throw up every time, he wants to crawl out of his skin, he wants— 

And Harrington said _i got plans_ , and then he kissed a girl, and Billy said _you look fine_ , and— 

And— 

* * *

Billy’s barely out of his clothes when the—the window fucking. Slides open. 

The window slides open, and Billy’s feet are stuck to the floor, and Harrington climbs in his bedroom. Billy’s bedroom. 

The window slides open, and Harrington’s in his room. 

Which is— 

It’s. Not how Billy thought the night might go. At all. 

Which is why he forgets to panic for. A whole minute, probably. Because Harrington—Harrington’s in his room. 

Harrington’s in Billy’s room, and Neil’s in his, and Billy has a boy in his room, and Billy—Billy’s _not_ supposed to have boys in his room, Billy’s supposed to be _good_ , so. 

He panics. Silently. 

Silently, because his father is sleeping in his room, and Harrington is in Billy’s bedroom, and— 

‘Harrington?’ he hisses. Panicked. ‘What the _fuck_ are you doing? Here. What—what the fuck are you doing _here_?’ 

And then, because Harrington’s still climbing in, because Harrington’s _still_ not answering, because Harrington can _not_ be here, and Billy decides he doesn’t give a fuck _why_ he’s here, because Harrington _cannot be here_ , ‘You can’t be here,’ he says, goes to push Harrington out, to—to do _something_ , because Harrington’s already in, and he _can’t_ be here, and Billy— 

He’s losing his mind a little bit. 

Harrington stands in the middle of Billy’s bedroom. Brushes himself off, like maybe he doesn’t want to be caught with _dust_ on his pants, like maybe _that’s_ what’ll save him, if Neil finds him here, dusting himself off, and he—he gives a small, stupid wave at Billy, and Billy— 

He thinks—he’ll murder Harrington before Neil gets to him. 

‘Harrington, I’m not kidding, you can’t be here. You need to go. Like. Now. Right now. You need to—you need to go, okay, my dad is—’ 

‘He’s asleep,’ Harrington says, calm, and Billy—under different circumstances he’d be like. Kinda annoyed Harrington cut him off or like. Really annoyed, but. 

‘How would you know?’ He’s not like. Hysterical, but. He’s getting there. ‘Harrington, how would you _know_?’ 

Harrington—shrugs. He _shrugs_. ‘I checked.’ 

Billy’s going to murder him. Like. That’s just a fact Billy’s coming to terms with. He’s going to murder Harrington. 

‘You che—you _checked_?’ and when Harrington nods, proud, fucking _proud_ , Billy just— 

‘You checked. Fuck. _Fuck_ , Harrington, what the _fuck_ , you can’t just _do_ —you can’t _be_ here, wh— _why_ are you here? Why aren’t you at the party? Can’t be over, it’s still early,’ and he like. Knows he’s rambling, knows he has to take a breath, but also. Harrington _checked_. 

Harrington’s in his room, and he knows Neil’s asleep, because he fucking _checked_. 

So like. Breathing is _not_ Billy’s top priority at the moment. 

‘You left,’ Harrington says, quiet. Like that answers _any_ of Billy’s questions, which. 

It doesn’t? 

‘Yeah I. I _know_ I left, Harrington, why did _you_ is. What I’m askin’.’ 

Harrington looks at him. Looks at him in that way that makes Billy wanna do lots of stupid, stupid stuff. He shrugs, again. Says, ‘You left,’ _again_ , like maybe he thinks he—he’s answering Billy’s question, keeps looking at Billy, and Billy— 

Billy thinks, _no fuckin’ way. There’s no fuckin’ way Harrington means_ — 

‘You. Were having _fun_ , right? With that chick?’ he snaps back, and he knows he’s being mean, he knows he is, but Harrington _can’t_ be here, and he _can’t_ mean what Billy thinks he does, he _can’t_ , and—‘What, did you need me there to hold your hand while you two were making out or somethin’?’ 

Harrington—his face _falls_. Like maybe Billy said something wrong. Something that doesn’t—make sense, and _that’s_ precious, because _none_ of what’s happening is making _any_ sense to Billy, and— 

‘I—I thought we could—’ 

‘ _What_ , Harrington? You thought we could _what_?’ 

Harrington shakes his head. Lets out this small, bitter breath. ‘Fuck,’ he says, keeps his voice low. ‘You’re gonna laugh at me, aren’t you?’ 

Billy has. No idea what’s going on. And Neil’s sleeping in his room, and Harrington’s not supposed to be here, so. 

‘Pal, I don’t think I can find it in me to laugh at _anything_ at the moment, okay, so just—’ 

‘I kissed her for you.’ Harrington widens his eyes, like maybe he didn’t mean to say that out loud. But he’s King Steve, brave, and fearless and kinda crazy, so. He steels himself, looks at Billy in the eyes, says, ‘I was doing it for you. So. There’s that.’ 

Billy’s like. Definitely losing his mind, and Harrington’s standing in the middle of his room, and he looks seconds away from crying, and he said— 

He said— 

And Billy’s not supposed to _want_ , he’s not supposed to hope, but he’s never been good at fighting his impulses, and that means _Steve_ now, all the time, so. 

He sits on the bed. Pats the space next to him. Looks at Harrington. ‘I—okay, can you. Just—come sit and just. Say this again, slowly.’ 

Harrington eyes the bed. Billy. The way he’s still wounded up for a fight, ready to throw Harrington out. Makes a beeline for the desk chair. Crosses his arms, like. _Dare you to say something_. 

Billy’s like. Lost all ability to form sentences, so. Chair it is. He raises his eyebrows at Harrington. Waits him out. 

Harrington takes a deep breath. ‘That girl, I—I kissed her. For you.’ 

‘I don’t know what that _means_ , Harrington. I never. Asked you to? I don’t—’ 

Harrington looks—exhausted. Rubs the bridge of his nose. Forcefully. He mutters, ‘ _Fuck_.’ Bites his lip, like maybe he’s trying to swallow all the words down, and then— 

‘Fuck, okay, I just—I had this. This crazy idea, okay, that if I kissed her in front of you—in front of everyone, then we could. I don’t know. Get to do _this_ ,’ he says, like Billy has _any_ idea what _this_ is, and Billy _doesn’t_ , so. 

‘Do _what_ , Harrington?’ 

Harrington fucking—huffs. ‘Jesus, Billy, just—I thought if I proved to you I can. I don’t know. Keep a secret. Keep kissing girls in front of other people. I thought _then_ , maybe we. We could—’ and he trails off, shakes his head like he’s not turning Billy’s world on its axis, like he’s didn’t just climb in Billy’s bedroom to tell him he kissed a girl for Billy, because Harrington wanted to prove he can do it so they can— 

Billy has like. Seven hundred thoughts pinballing around his brain, most of which are variations of _fucking come closer_ , and _stop talking and kiss me_ , and _you really can’t be here because Neil will hurt you and Neil’s not allowed to hurt you_ , but Billy’s an idiot, and his life’s a fucking joke, and his best fuckin’ friend in the entire world, the boy Billy’s been aching to kiss for _months_ , his best fuckin’ friend is—he’s in his room, and he left a party because Billy wasn’t there anymore, and he kissed a girl for Billy, made sure Billy saw him, made sure Billy _got it_ , except Billy’s an idiot, so he didn’t, didn’t get it, and Billy’s losing his mind, and his life is a joke, and— 

‘That doesn’t make any _sense_ , Harrington, I—I never said—’ is what he settles on, because he’s an idiot on a good day, and he’s practically _useless_ around Harrington, and there’s no way Harrington’s saying what Billy like. _Desperately_ needs him to, and nothing. Makes _any_ sense, and— 

Harrington’s face falls, and he looked close to tears before, but now he just looks. Angry. Tired. He looks. _Exhausted_ , like maybe nothing is going the way he wanted it too, and Harrington said _i got plans_ , and Billy—Billy never imagined that could ever, ever mean _him_ , and Harrington—he must be joking, right, it’s—it’s all a joke, he’ll start laughing any second now, there’s no way— 

Billy wants— 

And there’s no way _Harrington_ wants—wants the same thing, there’s no— 

Harrington lets out this—this bitter sound, kinda like a laugh, nothing like it, stands up, says, ‘No. No, fuck, of course it doesn’t. It doesn’t make sense, you—you never said _anything_. Jesus, that. That was stupid. _Fuck_ ,’ all in one breath, quiet, like maybe he doesn’t want Billy to hear. 

He crosses the distance between them in two steps, and he isn’t looking at Billy, and Billy—Billy needs him to, needs to have Harrington’s eyes on him, the way he’s been aching for, for months and months and _months_ , and Harrington isn’t looking at him, and his voice is—it’s so _quiet_ when he says, ‘I left my car two blocks down, I. I know what he’s like, Billy, I wouldn’t. Put you in—’ and he finally, _finally_ looks at Billy, says, ‘ _Ever_ , I wouldn’t— _ever_ do that. To you. ’m sorry.’ 

And Harrington looks so—so _sad_ , and that’s one thing too many for Billy to process, all at once, and he’s still sitting on his bed, holding on to the edges of the mattress like a lifeline, and there are so many things he needs to—to process, to make sense of, and the night isn’t going how he thought it’d be, not even a little, but—but Harrington’s getting ready to _leave_ , because he climbed in Billy’s room to tell him he left the party because Billy wasn’t there anymore, and Billy’s not _saying anything_ , and— 

And he needs to— 

And Harrington’s _leaving_ , and he can’t be here in the first place, but he can’t—Billy can’t let him _leave_ , not without telling him, because Harrington drove all the way out here, and he parked his car two blocks down, and he checked if Neil’s asleep, because he _knows_ , because he _cares_ , because he— 

Because Harrington wants— 

‘ _Steve_ —’ It’s out of Billy’s mouth before he can think twice about it, and Harrington’s at the window, ready to jump back out, and Billy can’t let him leave before he—before he tells him, before Harrington _sees_ — 

He takes two steps, closes the distance between them, the hardest thing he’s ever done, ever, in his whole life, and Harrington’s still facing the window, ready to leave, to go, to get out, and Billy—Billy needs to stop him, he needs to get close, so he _does_ , he— 

He wraps an arm around Harrington’s waist, plasters himself on his back, glues their bodies together. Lets his forehead rest between Harrington’s shoulder blades. Tightens his arm, holds Harrington close, close, _close_ , just to hear the way his breath hitches, just to feel the way his chest moves when he whispers Billy’s name, a question if Billy ever heard one, so. 

‘Fuck,’ he mutters, lets the word hang in the space between them, and then, ‘’m sorry, Steve, I’m so—I’m so sorry.’ 

Harrington turns around in his arms, a frown all over his stupid, pretty face, but he doesn’t—he doesn’t move away from Billy, doesn’t flinch when Billy keeps him wrapped in his hold. 

He looks—he looks confused. He looks. Hopeful, like maybe—maybe Billy’s saying what he— 

‘Do. You—Billy, are you—’ 

‘I’m so stupid, Steve, I’m so. _Fuck_ , I thought—’ Billy’s useless, _useless_ around Harrington, and words aren’t working right now, but he needs to make him _see_ , he needs to make him _understand_ —‘I thought it was just. _Me_ , Steve, I didn’t—I didn’t know, I thought it was. I thought it was _me_ , fuck. _Fuck_. ’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ 

Harrington’s eyes do that—that thing they do around Billy, sometimes, where they become—impossibly bigger, somehow, and Harrington looks at Billy, keeps looking, keeps looking at him the same way he has for a while, and, fuck, how on earth didn’t Billy notice, how on earth could he be so—so _stupid_ , so blind, and then Harrington— 

‘Oh,’ he says, ‘ _oh_. I thought—you knew. You. You kept looking at me, Billy, I thought—I thought you’d seen me looking back. Fuck, I really thought you knew,’ and he’s smiling, and he’s looking at Billy, and he’s right there, right there in Billy’s arms, and Billy— 

He shakes his head, can’t fucking believe himself, and. ‘Woulda done this sooner if I knew,’ he says, and— 

And Billy’s spent months and months and _months_ watching Harrington kiss girls, watching, and watching, and dreaming, and now Harrington’s smiling against his lips, and making all these small, quiet noises, like maybe he’s trying to keep himself quiet, because Neil’s sleeping in the other room, and Billy never—he _never_ thought he’d ever get a first kiss with Harrington, but he hates the way he’s getting it, hates that he can’t hear all the noises Harrington has to bite down, hates his father and this stupid town and the whole _world_ , but. 

He’s kissing Harrington, being kissed by him, all soft lips and smiles and quiet noises, and Billy holds him, holds him, keeps him close, and he _loves_ this, this first kiss he’s getting, and he loves— 

He pulls back, because his head is spinning, because he’s breathless, _they’re_ breathless, and Harrington keeps kissing him, kissing all over his eyes, his cheeks, his mouth, his mouth, his mouth, like he can’t stop, now he knows he’s allowed, and Billy holds him close, has to bite his lip to keep himself from _howling_ , has to dig his nails in his palms to keep himself from pushing Harrington on his bed, get what he’s been aching for, to touch and _see_ and feel, and he _can’t_ , because Neil’s on the other side of the wall, and Harrington needs to _go_ , and Billy never wants him to, never wants to let him out of his arms, ever again, and— 

‘Guess you’re way better at keeping secrets than you thought, huh,’ he says, muffled, because Harrington can’t stop kissing him, refuses to put space between them, and Billy—Billy has like. Zero objections about that, so. 

Harrington pulls back, after a moment, makes this—this face, like, _you have no idea_ , and Billy thinks there’s a story there, but this night’s already filled with surprises, for _both_ of them, seems like, and Harrington’s smiling at him again, so Billy figures he can let it go for the moment, because Harrington’s _smiling at him_ , smiling at Billy, because he came all the way over here to _kiss_ him, and— 

‘Can’t believe you never saw me looking back, like. I was. _So_ obvious, Billy, you don’t even know, and Nancy says I’m always wearing my heart on my sleeve, and—’ 

‘Don’t talk about your fuckin’ ex when you’re kissing me, Harrington, jesus, didn’t your mother teach you any fuckin’ manners or anyth—’ and he doesn’t get to finish, because— 

‘Wasn’t kissing you before,’ Harrington cuts him off, grinning like the idiot he is, ‘’m kissing you now, though,’ and he goes back to kissing Billy, keeps kissing him, keeps smiling, keeps— 

‘Good. Keep doin’ that. Never fuckin’ stop, okay?’ 

And Harrington pulls back just a fraction, looks so serious, so determined, when he says, ‘Promise.’ 

Billy’s heart’s going to. Explode, probably. 

Billy thinks—it’s not the worst way to go. Being kissed to death by Harrington. 

_Definitely_ not the worst way. 

And he goes to dive back in, bring their lips together again, and then he— 

Remembers— 

He inches away, and Harrington’s already in his space, looks seven kinds of betrayed Billy’s depriving him of more kisses, but. Like. Billy has to— 

‘Oh, and. You’re not kissing anyone else either.’ 

Harrington narrows his eyes. ‘Huh?’ 

‘That. _Thing_ you had goin’ on. Kissing girls. That’s not happening any more, pal. You’re kissing _me_. No one else.’ Billy’s like. Dead serious. Looks at Harrington heavily. Needs him to get it. Needs him to get—Billy’s not sharing. 

Harrington’s his now. Billy—he’s not sharing him. 

Harrington’s face softens. He gets this like. Stupid, fond expression on his face. Like maybe he—he kinda enjoys this. Billy being possessive over him, which is. It’s good, ’cause like. It ain’t going away anytime soon. 

‘Billy,’ he says, brings up his hand to play with Billy’s curls, the ones Billy fixed perfectly _for him_ , like Billy’s been wanting him to all night long. ‘That’s the whole point of—of this, right? Keep up appearances? I was doing it to make sure we—’ 

‘No one else,’ Billy cuts in, again. Firm. Unyielding. He’s not sharing. ‘I’m not sharing you. With _anyone_ , Steve. Okay, with—with _anyone_. You kiss _me_ , no one else. That’s it.’ 

‘It’s _dangerous_ —’ 

‘Listen we—jesus, we’re _not_ talking about this right now with my fuckin’ _dad_ next door, because I’m like. Three seconds away from a heart attack, but. You’re right, okay, it. It _is_ dangerous, and we’re gonna have to set. A shit-ton of rules and stuff, but. I mean it. You’re not kissing anybody else, _I’m_ not kissing anybody else, that’s it. You good with that?’ 

And he’s kinda terrified, terrified Harrington’s gonna change his mind, decide it’s not worth the trouble, go find someone else, someone _easier_ , but— 

But Harrington’s looking at him, the same way he’s been looking at him for months, and he’s rubbing his thumb over Billy’s cheekbone, and. 

He leans in, brings their lips together, licks his way into Billy’s mouth, just for a second, because they both know time’s running out, and when he pulls back he doesn’t move far, leaves just the smallest distance between them, keeps his fingers buried in Billy’s curls, and when he talks his breath ghosts over Billy’s lips, and— 

‘More than,’ he says, breathless. Happy, because Billy—Billy got him there. ‘Don’t wanna kiss anybody else. Ever,’ and then. He—he laughs. _Laughs_ , because—‘Man, I can’t. Fucking believe you’re asking me to go steady in a fucking— _Care Bear_ t-shirt, Billy, what the _fuck_ —’ 

‘Harrington just—shut it, okay, Max got it for me ’cause I’m like. The personification of Grumpy Bear, or something, whatever the fuck that means.’ 

‘Not so grumpy from now on though, right?’ Harrington’s still laughing, still stealing kisses from Billy, and Billy should. He should be annoyed, right, but he. He can’t really find any reason to be? 

‘Harrington, I mean it. Shut _up_ —’ 

‘No, you—’ Harrington says, suddenly. Pulls back to look at Billy. Serious. Urgent, like he needs to—make sure. ‘Can’t take it back. You said. _Steve_ , not—you said _Steve_ , Billy, you can’t. Take it back, okay?’ 

And Billy—he gets it, he _gets_ it, lets out the breath he’d been holding since Harrington pulled back, like his lungs couldn’t remember how to work with Harrington out of reach, and Billy _gets_ it, so. 

‘I’m not,’ he says, matches Harrington’s tone, serious and sober and right _there_. Cups Harrington’s jaw. Holds his face, gentle and careful and soft, because Harrington gave him a promise, and Billy owes him one, too, ‘I’m not taking it back, Steve, I—I promise. Won’t ever, okay? Promise.’ 

Harrington—his whole body sags, tension draining out of it so fast, and he looks so— _in peace_ , like nothing can ever go wrong again, not when he’s _Steve_ now. He brings their faces closer again, rests his forehead against Billy’s. Closes his eyes, and Billy— 

He keeps his open, takes him in, the way Harrington’s face goes calmer with every breath he takes in the space between them, and he’s right there, right there in Billy’s arms, and— 

Then— 

‘I really need to go, don’t I?’ 

Billy looks into Harrington’s eyes, and when did he open them, when did that happen, when did the spell break, and Harrington’s right, of _course_ he is, he needs to _go_ , he needs to go like. Half an hour ago, and— 

Billy’s heart shatters, and then he—he remembers, he gets to _have_ this now, this, Harrington in his arms, kisses, _Steve_ , he gets to have _Steve_ , so. 

He nods. Fists his hand in Harrington’s stupid shirt, the one with the sleeves rolled up, even though it’s the middle of fucking _March_ , and they’re in Nowhere, Indiana, and it’s _freezing_ , and Billy keeps him close, just for one moment, just for one more, kisses him one more time, and he’s never getting tired of this, kissing Harrington, holding him close, listening to the small sounds he makes with Billy’s lips on his, and— 

He needs to go— 

Billy pulls all the way back, puts some space between them, and Harrington kinda sways forward, still caught up in the kiss, and Billy wants to dive back in, and he wants to keep him close, and he wants— 

‘Steve,’ he says, huffs a laugh at the pout that takes over his stupid, _stupid_ face, ‘you were about ready to go, remember? Unless you wanna. I don’t know, stay here and get lynched by my dad when he finds us here, but. I kinda like kissing you, is the thing, and I’d like to keep being alive so I can. _Keep_ kissing you, so.’ 

And he raises his eyebrows, like, _take your pick_ , and Harrington breaks into a smile, and Billy counts that as a win, knows it’ll be the last thing he’ll see behind his eyelids before he falls asleep for like. The rest of his life, or maybe just for tonight, because he has an inkling Harrington’s gonna be throwing a lot of smiles his way, from now on, and— 

‘I really. _Really_ like kissing you, too,’ is the last thing Harrington says before sliding the window open. 

* * *

Billy keeps his eyes locked on Harrington as he tiptoes his way across Neil’s lawn, and there’s a smile splitting his face in two when Harrington gets to the street, turns around to give him a thumbs-up, and a smile bright enough to match his own, the fucking dork, and— 

And Billy’s heart kinda breaks the moment Harrington is out of sight, and then he. 

He thinks, he gets to have this now. He gets to go to school, and kiss Harrington, and hold him, and he gets to keep this secret, that Harrington is _his_ , now, that _he_ is Harrington’s, and he thinks—maybe people were right, thinking they got _two_ kings ruling over Hawkins now, and Billy loves the sound of that, Harrington-and-Hargrove, Hargrove-and-Harrington, the two kings of Hawkins, and Billy— 

Billy loves— 

**Author's Note:**

> hey, so! i have a [tumblr](https://aspartaeme.tumblr.com/), so. if you liked this you can. idk send me nice messages and prompts and stuff and if you REALLY liked it you can bully me into posting more fics idk just a thought
> 
> hope y'all enjoyed this!


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